Nothing Ventured

‘That he refuses to answer any of our questions, in which case the interview will be over in a few minutes, and we’ll have wasted our time.’

‘This will be my first prison visit,’ William volunteered, after neither of them had spoken for some time.

Lamont smiled. ‘Mine was a jolly Irishman who made me laugh with his stories of the Emerald Isle.’

‘What was he in for?’

‘Robbing a post office, which turned out to be quite hard to prove, because he never even made it to the counter, and his only weapon was a cucumber. Luckily he pleaded guilty.’

‘More, more,’ demanded William.

‘Another time,’ said Lamont as they drew up outside HMP Pentonville.

‘You couldn’t blame Her Majesty,’ mused William, ‘if she decided she could do without prisons in her portfolio.’

‘If she did, she might have to do without Buckingham Palace in that same portfolio,’ said Lamont as the car swung into the Caledonian Road.

William stared beyond the high wall at a forbidding brick building that dominated the landscape.

The car came to a halt at the barrier, and a uniformed officer stepped forward. Lamont wound down his window and produced his warrant card.

‘Mr Langley is expecting you, sir,’ said the man, after inspecting the card. ‘If you’ll park over there, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.’

/> The driver slipped into the first available space and turned off the engine.

‘I can’t be sure how long we’ll be, Matt,’ said Lamont to the driver, who was taking a paperback out of the glove compartment. ‘But when we get back, you can let me know if the latest Len Deighton is worth taking on holiday this year.’

‘It’s the third in a trilogy, sir, so I recommend you start with the first, Berlin Game.’

As they got out of the car, they were approached by a senior prison officer whose name tag on the pocket of his uniform read ‘SO Langley’.

‘How are you, Bruce?’

‘Can’t complain, Reg. This is DC Warwick. Keep your eye on him. He’s after my job.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ said William, as they shook hands.

‘Follow me,’ said Langley. ‘I apologize for the excessive security procedures, but they’re standard in any Cat. B prison.’

They both signed the register at the gatehouse, before being issued with visitors’ passes. William counted five sets of barred gates that were locked and unlocked before they came across their first prisoner.

‘Leigh’s waiting for you in the interview room, but let me warn you, Bruce, he’s been particularly uncooperative this morning. As you’ve nicked him on three occasions in the past, I don’t suppose you’re his favourite uncle.’

William noticed as they walked down a long green brick corridor that the cons either turned their backs on them, usually accompanied by an expletive, or simply ignored them. But there was one exception, a middle-aged man who stopped mopping the floor to take a closer look at him. William thought there was something familiar about the man, and wondered if he’d arrested him at some time when he was on the beat in Lambeth.

William couldn’t hide his surprise when they came to a halt outside a large glass cube that looked more like a modern sculpture than an interview room. Inside he could see a prisoner sitting at a table, head bowed, who he assumed must be Eddie Leigh.

‘Before you ask,’ said Lamont, pointing at the glass cube, ‘that’s as much for your protection as his. When I was a young sergeant, I was once accused of punching a prisoner during an interrogation. It’s true that I wanted to punch him, but I didn’t,’ he paused, ‘on that occasion.’

‘Coffee and biscuits?’ said Langley.

‘Give us a few minutes with him first, Reg,’ said Lamont.

William and Lamont entered the room and sat down opposite Leigh. No suggestion of handcuffs or an officer standing behind him. A privilege afforded only to those with no record of violence. Leigh must have waived his right to have a solicitor present.

William looked carefully at the prisoner seated on the other side of the table. At first glance, the forty-seven-year-old forger looked like any other con, dressed in the regulation prison garb of blue striped shirt and well-worn jeans. He was unshaven, with dark hair and brown eyes, but what surprised William was his hands. How could a man with bricklayers’ hands produce such delicate brush-work? And then he spoke, revealing that he hailed from the same part of the world as Lamont.

‘Can you spare us a fag, guv?’ he asked politely.